#Avalon manor
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Username song game
Thank you for the tags, lovelies @milla-frenchy @fruityreads @itwasntimethatdidit40 @schnarfer 🩷🩷🩷🩷
I’m sorry we don’t have Spotify in my country so no links😭 but I really wanted to do it🌸
A✨Angel- Massive Attack
U✨Unholy - Sam Smith, Kim Petras
R✨Red Wine Supernova - Chappell Roan
O✨O - Oxytocin - Billie Eilish
R✨Rush- Troye Sivan
A✨Adelaide - MEG MYERS
W✨ What was I made for - Billie Eilish
R✨Religion - ZAND
I✨Ill manors - Plan B
T✨ Too Sweet - Hozier
E✨ Espresso - Sabrina Carpenter
S ✨She Calls Me Daddy - KiNG MALA
T✨ Tear You Apart - She Wants Revenge
O✨ Objection- Shakira
E✨ Everything Sucks - Princess Nokia
S✨So Rich, So Pretty - Mickey Avalon
C✨ Casual - Chappell Roan
A✨Addicted to Love- Florence + The Machine
P✨Panic Attacks In Paradise - Ashnikko
E✨Easy On Me - Adele
Npt💖 @thundermartini @sawymredfox @sanarsi @huskyfox5 @noceurous @lokischocolatefountain @lovely-vamp-princess @casa-boiardi @xdaddysprincessxx @bonezone44 and whoever would like to play💕
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Braddock Manor // House Avalon
#betsy braddock#captain britain#psylocke#meggan braddock#Gloriana#brian braddock#Captain Avalon#Jamie Braddock#Monarch#marvel#x-men#krakoa#excalibur
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*TAPS ON CRYSTAL BALL*
HEY CAN YALL HEAR ME?? HELLO?? HEY YEAH ITS SLEEPWALKER…
Bunferatu/Nosferabbit Headcanons
• Everyone calls him Bunferatu/Nosferabbit (Same Person), but he’s formally known as Count Caerbannog.
• While many of the legends are true, the ‘Nosferabbit’ you see during the fall season in wizard city is the result of excess moon magic leaking, causing a ‘Shift Vampire Rabbit(Bunferatu)’ to manifest upon a normal rabbit living within the Count’s old Mysterious Cave manor.
• Count Caerbannog has beef with this doppelgänger every year, and wishes the students in ravenwood would just call animal control.
• Necromancer, with an interest in Moon and Gardening Magic.
• Ethnically From Avalon and Darkmoor
• Vegetarian, survives off iron-rich veggies, primarily in juiced form, tries his best to keep actual blood out of his diet.
• Actually is really sweet to his undead-veggie minions, always making sure they get enough moonlight to thrive, he had to modify some gardening spells to achieve this.
• Cisgender and on the bisexual spectrum but doesn’t understand nor care for labels.
• Very socially and romantically inept, has a collection of those really crappy social skill books that he takes maybe a little too literally. He is a weirdo.
• His form of love language is gift giving and physical affection, he will give you ancient cursed jewels and you have to deal with it!!!!
• Wears a very weak beguile on himself, magic cologne type beat.
• Has only trained dueling within dueling circles, this is due to the ‘formality’ and professionalism associated with circle-bound-combat. Incredibly useless in un-bound combat.
#wizard101#wiz101#wizzy101#pirate101#pitty101#wizzy fandom#w101#p101#flora’sheadcanons#bunferatu#count caerbannog#headcanon#wizard101 headcanon#🌲 : flora’s headcanons#🌲 : flora’s sleepverse#🌴 : count caerbannog
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I struggled to choose (your wips sound so cool!) but I thought I'd go one of your original works :) so yellow rose manor?
haha aw thanks @rriavian! don't worry you picked a fun one!
yellow rose manor is going to eventually be a series, but it's going to be my take of what happens when you have a bunch of zillennial supernatural entities renting an apartment together and their ensuing adventures and shenanigans with all the plots rooted in real life issues of stuff like domestic abuse, religious trauma, addiction, etc. etc.
It's set in San Francisco, so the apartment is an old Victorian home that is haunted on a very structural level by the ghost of a murdered nine year old Victorian era girl who possesses the house because her body was buried in the foundations. So she's the kind of haunting where if you set up foundational stones in other places she can teleport the house to those foundation stones, she can change the very structure of the building to screw with you (moving doors, stairs, etc.) and is simultaneously everyone's mom due to her chronological age vs. death age and the WOULD YOU STOP THAT poltergeist.
Her compatriot and "dad" of the house is the "landlord" which is really just her old friend who solved her murder back in the 1800s and has taken care of her and the house ever since. His fun twist is that he's actually Galahad the grail knight and spends his eternity following the magically moving island of avalon to protect arthur and await his return. We have some good old loyal knight pining after his king situation here. The house moves with him and for now Avalon is magically posted out in San Francisco Bay by Angel Island and Alcatraz, not that mortals can see it. He is begrudging team dad, the tired and burnt out idealist who is trying so hard to not live up to his legend anymore and just be a guy waiting for his love to wake up. Because he's so burnt out about the world that if he tried to use The Greatest Knight Of The Roundtable Skills without those morals/guiding lights anymore, he's going to just hurt people. We'll see if his latest tenants/eventual found family can help him hope and believe again.
The other members of the house are a medium/witch who is running away from her abusive hyper-religious family and is the newest addition to this house (brought on via a craigslist ad because they need someone to purge the ghost haunting this house they just moved into, it's a really nice house with cheap rent and the landlord is never around, pleaaase?).
Then there is a vampire who has agoraphobia from pre-bitten times, was transformed only twenty years ago or so and HATES that this is the era he's gotta be starting out as immortal in. I have some heft addiction and prior domestic abuse arcs planned for him, it's going to be a good but painful time.
There's a werewolf who is Muslim and has the biggest golden retriever energy, and she handles her zoomies energy by playing on a very physical local recreational soccer team. It'll be a take on lycanthropy where it's viewed as a blessing/god giving you the power to defend that which you love instead of a curse, and she treats it as such.
There is one human in the house, his name is Kevin, and he makes sure that everyone has the appropriate meals and nutrition and supernatural existence requirements/enrichment. His running gag is that everyone he gets close to turns out to be supernatural, and he's so proud when he brings his girlfriend home to show off like hey look guys a fully normal human isn't she great? At which point Galahad walks in and just says "yeah so how did you of all people meet Doto the Nereid", and Kevin just loses his mind.
The first book will be called The House On the Hill and opens like this:
There was a house that lived on a hill. This was not unusual for San Francisco where nearly every house, apartment, office, and parking lot was, in fact, built upon a hill. It made for messy city life—parallel parking from an even deeper circle of hell, savage cardio workouts built into the weekly run to the local grocery store (if it hadn’t been demolished in favor of the latest hipster shop in a never-ending chain of hipster shops), and a sizeable yearly budget for brake pads. Nevertheless, there was still a house that lived on a hill.
#@rriavan#mine#writing#original works#yellow rose manor#WIP ask game#my writing#chatting into the void
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═════ஓ๑ ᴄʜᴘ.1 ๑ஓ════
The small manor's main hall was adorned with inexpensive wallpaper, its vibrant royal blue hue dotted with gracefully flying cranes. This ornate decoration spanned the entire space, casting a captivating ambiance upon the room. The manor, well-known to the residents of Lillon, a quaint port town nestled on the eastern side of the majestic Avalon mountains, stood proudly atop a lofty hill overlooking the tumultuous sea. The crashing waves resounded through the manor, harmonizing with the fervent shouts of its diligent butlers and maids.
Clad in a flowing white gown, Lena gracefully descended the grand u-shaped staircase, her every step a symphony of mischief. With each passing second, a mischievous smile adorned her face as the caretakers of the manor gasped for breath, cursing her name. The cold touch of the marble floor against her bare feet amplified a sense of liberation that coursed through her veins.
"Lady Lena! I implore you, please halt your advance!" cried out her butler in desperation.
And halt she did. Turning around, she couldn't help but snicker at the sight of her beleaguered butler, hunched over with a dress draped over his arm. As he looked up, his breath held, he cautiously attempted to approach her, but she instinctively took a step back. Extending her index finger playfully, she warned, "Nah ah, Mr. Freed. One step closer, and I may be tempted to test the full force of gravity by leaping out of the window."
Exasperated, Mr. Freed bent backward, his frustration palpable. "My word, Lena. Why must you always be so obstinate?"
"Why, Mr. Freed? Don't you find it amusing?" she asked, her eyes gleaming mischievously.
Meeting her daring gaze with an unamused expression, Mr. Freed's lips formed a pout reminiscent of a basset hound. "Not particularly. How do you perceive it, then?"
"A thrill," she exclaimed, her eyebrow teasingly raised, before darting off into the bustling kitchen. The chaotic symphony of two cooks and seven maids echoed within the culinary domain, their frantic movements tracing a frenzied path from one end to the other. The head chef, with a commanding presence, barked orders while deftly chopping freshly plucked vegetables from the garden. Amidst the flurry of activity, the Lady of the manor remained unnoticed, her presence inconsequential as the staff busily toiled to complete their culinary creations. It struck her as peculiar, but she saw no reason to dwell on such matters. Instead, she directed her steps toward the pantry.
Navigating through the industrious throng of workers, she gracefully evaded incoming plates, her hands tightly tucked by her side. Silently, she glided through the bustling scene until she arrived at the pantry's entrance. As she slipped inside, the sun's gentle rays poured through the glass dome ceiling, bathing the space in a natural glow. Illuminated before her were an array of spices, dried herbs, and tantalizing desserts. Her eyes widened as they fixated upon a glass jar brimming with freshly baked cookies, perched high upon a shelf. Wasting no time, she advanced swiftly, her steps careful and her arms outstretched. With a skillful maneuver, she managed to seize the jar, her heart filled with triumphant delight.
"Lena," a low voice cut through the air, causing her to startle.
Turning around, clutching the purloined jar, she chuckled nervously. "Ah, Vincent, you've caught me in the act. You nearly gave me a heart attack, old man."
“Don’t call me old.”
"Yes, sir," she hastily apologized, realizing her lapse in judgment.
Brandishing a knife stained with remnants of his culinary artistry, Vincent pointed at the jar of cookies. "That's the second jar this week."
“What can I say? You do god’s work.”
"Lena," he warned, his voice laced with a blend of admonishment and affection.
"Yes, sir," she relented, approaching him to hand over the coveted jar.
Stepping aside to allow her exit, Vincent's intentions were thwarted as an unforeseen impact jolted her backward.
"Oh, Vincent, please don't tell me you were concealing Lena again," Mr. Freed's composed voice broke through the moment of surprise, as both Lena and Vincent regained their composure.
Pointing his knife accusingly at Mr. Freed, Vincent grumbled, "And I distinctly recall instructing you not to run in my kitchen."
With a single finger, Mr. Freed gently pushed the knife away from his face. "Well, you should know that it's all thanks to this young lady. Her relentless chaos has pushed the maids to their limits, causing three of them to collapse from exhaustion."
Vincent cast a glance at Lena, who responded with a sheepish smile. "I had my suspicions," he remarked.
“Well, I will be taking Lady Lena to her room to be attended to so that when Sir Piermon arrives, he will be proud of the woman she’s become.”
Those words reverberated within her, rendering her motionless. Even as the butler firmly grasped her wrist, attempting to guide her away, she remained rooted to the spot. Father? Her mind struggled to conjure up a faint memory of a bearded man clad in fine garments—a tenuous connection to the man. The last time she had seen him, she was but a fragile twelve-year-old girl, trapped in a shadowy existence she could never fully escape.
The butler noticed the shock etched upon the girl's face, stifling an exasperated breath. "Lena, I understand that it has been a considerable time. However, we must prepare you for his arrival. Can you find it within yourself to comply? For us?"
Lifting her gaze, she comprehended the weight behind his words. Though she had not witnessed it firsthand, the murmurs circulating within these very walls had given her an inkling. Her father was not held in high regard within this manor, and perhaps not even in their hometown. Very well, she acquiesced, nodding her consent and allowing Mr. Freed to escort her away—from the kitchen, through the main hall, and up the ornate staircase.
They adorned her in a manner she had anticipated, to a degree that rendered the reflection in the mirror foreign to her own eyes. The maids, aware of her aversion to all things associated with femininity, had always outfitted her in modest attire, disguising her noble status. To an outside observer, she would have appeared as a commoner rather than a woman of distinction. Yet now, she found herself enveloped in a resplendent royal blue gown, intricate makeup adorning her features, her hair meticulously styled into an elegant bun, and a lingering fragrance of lavender clinging to her skin. It was all too overwhelming—a costume, she reassured herself, as she spun before the towering looking glass.
A pair of gentle knocks resonated through the chamber, prompting her to nod in permission for one of the maids to open the door. Mr. Freed emerged, bedecked in a fine vest, a shirt adorned with ruffled cuffs, and his meticulously groomed hair elegantly swept back.
"Your father has arrived, my Lady," he announced, his words evoking a disquieting sensation. The notion of having her father brought forth an unsettling strangeness she preferred to avoid. Nonetheless, she steeled herself, resolving to endure the encounter. "Very well," she responded with composed resolve.
Before stepping out of the room behind the butler, one of the maids intercepted her. Perplexed, she turned back, inquiring, "What is it?"
"Remember what you have been taught, my Lady—chin held high, shoulders back, and manners, Lady Lena," the elder maid gently hinted, prompting Lena to scoff inwardly at the absurdity of it all. Nevertheless, she allowed a smile to grace her lips and executed a graceful curtsy. "Very well," the maid approved, granting her permission to proceed.
Descending the grand staircase, Lena observed the mansion's staff, all bedecked in their finest uniforms, emitting an even more enticing fragrance than usual. They stood in rigid formation, forming a corridor of respect on either side of the imposing front door. From above, Lena glimpsed her father engrossed in conversation with Mr. Freed. Adorned in immaculate white attire, adorned with subtle yet intricate embroideries upon his coat, his wavy locks expertly swept back, and his piercing blue eyes exuding a chilling allure, he possessed an illusion of handsomeness.
Mr. Freed, sensing the hesitant presence of the young girl atop the staircase, introduced her with a reverent tone. "My Lord, may I present to you, Lady Lena."
Suppressing a heavy heartbeat, Lena felt her father's gaze lock with her own. A surge of desperation surged through her being—a desperate longing to escape the moment. With a forced smile etching upon her lips and her hands clutching at the folds of her blue gown, she embarked on the cautious descent down the curved staircase. Each step felt akin to a treacherous dance with mortality, as her eyes struggled to discern where her feet would find purchase. Finally, her feet touched the firm ground below, and she inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Standing before her father, she curtsied with practiced grace, uttering a polite greeting, "Father."
His gaze lingered upon her for what felt like an eternity, suffusing the room with an icy chill. If it were within the realm of possibility, she believed she would have dissolved into a mere puddle under the intensity of his scrutiny. A tingling sensation prickled her fingers, and her palms grew damp with perspiration. Even Mr. Freed, standing nearby, appeared uneasy, fidgeting subtly in his position.
Breaking the frigid silence, her father's voice pierced through the air, slicing through the palpable tension. "I perceive that you have blossomed into the Lady of this House, Lena. It appears my apprehensions were nothing more than figments of my imagination."
Keeping her eyes averted from him, she offered a subtle nod in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Father."
At that moment, Mr. Freed interjected, addressing her father as ‘Sir Piermon.’ "Lunch has been prepared, and your chamber awaits, should you wish to rest after your arduous journey."
"No need; I have come to see Lena and convey a message," her father asserted, disregarding Mr. Freed's suggestion. The butler attempted to interject once more, only to halt abruptly as her father raised a commanding hand.
Curiosity and trepidation swelled within her, prompting Lena to question, "What is it, Father?" She couldn't suppress the hastiness in her voice, and a twinge of regret prickled at her.
Her father's next words pierced her with a searing blow. "Your mother has passed."
The numbness that accompanied thoughts of her mother was not entirely unfamiliar; there had been little of her presence to cling to. Lena harbored but a solitary recollection, a swirling concoction of emotions and confusion, one she had long chosen to bury deep within. Yet, an uncharted hollow suddenly bloomed within her, unsettling the pit of her stomach. Perhaps it was merely hunger, she attempted to persuade herself. Nevertheless, that unyielding part of her being, perpetually stirring with unwelcome emotions and thoughts, adamantly disagreed. No, Lena, you are experiencing sadness. That is the essence of this emotion—a profound sense of sorrow and loneliness.
Her lips bore the mark of her bite, a feeble attempt to suppress the torrent of unwelcome tears that threatened to spill forth. With a deliberate inhalation and exhalation, she sought to regain composure. "When did it happen?" Her voice, though laced with a semblance of sternness, trembled subtly at its conclusion.
"At Saint Moray's, at the onset of dusk. The attending nurses discovered her lifeless form resting by the window," he recounted. "It was a sudden passing."
Her question, sharp yet vulnerable, pierced the air. "And what was the cause?"
"Her heart simply gave out. That is all the information I possess," he responded matter-of-factly.
Lena's gaze remained fixed upon her father, his countenance devoid of any emotion, as cold as ever. Nodding with measured restraint, she averted her face, purposefully evading Mr. Freed's gaze. For a fleeting moment, her eyes caught a glimpse of disbelief etched upon the butler's visage, but she swiftly shifted her line of sight, unwilling to succumb to the shattering of her fragile facade.
"However, that is not the sole purpose of my visit," her father continued, oblivious to her refusal to acknowledge him.
Lena remained motionless.
And he did not pause to wait for her.
"You are to be wedded to the Marquis of Li'Pold," he declared, the words hanging heavily in the air. Her eyes widened in profound disbelief, her throat constricting with the suppressed scream that clamored for release. This time, she did look at him, a single tear slipping past her lengthy lashes, tracing a trail down her delicate jawline.
"What?" she exclaimed, her voice betraying her distressed state.
"The arrangements have been made, and a carriage shall arrive by month's end to collect you," he stated, turning his attention to Mr. Freed. The venerable butler, his face etched with wrinkles that belied his modest features, appeared almost as anguished as she felt. "Ensure that all pertinent belongings are adequately prepared. Intensify her tutelage in the art of being a dutiful wife and instruct her in the responsibilities befitting a Marquess, until such time as she departs."
So this is your plan, in the wake of mother's departure—to rid yourself of the other. "And what shall become of the individuals here?" she inquired through clenched teeth.
"They shall be reassigned to various noble households that have taken an interest in a select few," he replied dismissively.
Lena's tone now bore an unmistakable edge, her words gritted between her teeth. "A select few? And what of those who do not fall into that chosen category?"
"They shall receive a month's worth of wages as compensation and be left to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Is there anything else?" His voice sharpened dangerously, a clear indication of his impatience.
Unbeknownst to her, her posture had gradually succumbed to a slouch, but now she straightened her spine, rolling her shoulders back and elevating her chin with newfound resolve. "No," she replied, her voice carrying a tone of defiance.
A heavy silence engulfed them both, stretching taut like a tightly drawn bowstring. Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed Mr. Freed regaining his composure, clearing his throat as if to break the oppressive stillness.
Sir Piermon ran a hand through his meticulously combed hair, pivoting on his heel. "That is all I have come to convey. I shall take my leave then," he declared. With the same swiftness that had brought him, he departed once more, leaving behind a lingering chill in the air.
Above, a tempestuous storm raged, casting its shadow over the land. Tiny droplets of rain glistened like scattered stars, illuminated intermittently by the flickering lantern on her bedside table and the occasional bolt of lightning. The rain tapped rhythmically against the circular window, offering a backdrop to the vast expanse of hills upon which the manor perched, overlooking the vast ocean. By night, the view possessed an air of haunting beauty, but to Lena, it whispered of untamed freedom, an untapped realm awaiting her.
Nestled within her double bed, positioned toward the room's rear, Lena lay ensconced in the embrace of fine cotton sheets and her nightgown. Her meticulously brushed hair cascaded over her right shoulder, but the dampness in the air transformed it into a fluffier, more unruly mass than she preferred—a trait that irked her. Ever since her father's departure, she had retreated into an isolated silence. During lunch, she sat alone, unable to stomach even a morsel of the freshly prepared chicken and salad that Vincent had lovingly crafted. Soon thereafter, the maids ushered her upstairs to her chamber, where they removed her gown, bathed her, and readied her for bed in an atmosphere of tense silence. In their own way, they extended a modicum of compassion, granting the numbed girl space, unaware of the clandestine battle waged within her mind.
She remained uncertain as to which side had emerged triumphant—was the weight of her mother's passing substantial enough to unleash her grief, or did the prospect of departing from the place she once regarded as a prison, now her sanctuary, loom too large, rendering it a mere memory too soon? All these emotions surged and churned, trapped within the confines of her throat, clawing and beseeching her to succumb to one or the other, yet she found herself incapable of action. Confusion reigned. Loss pervaded. She... was adrift.
Lena rose from her bed, the frigid wooden floor chilling her bare feet, and made her way toward the window, leaning her head against the cool glass. Will I become like her? Whatever had propelled my mother into madness, does it lie dormant within me as well? I wonder what affliction led her down that path. If only I knew, then perhaps I could stop it from happening to me... She attempted to envision her mother's descent into madness—mumbling incoherently, fixated on imaginary visions, but the images refused to materialize. For the only memory she retained of her mother was not one of insanity, but rather one steeped in tragedy.
I don’t want to be a tragedy.
Then, an unrestrained sob escaped her lips, followed by another and another, the outpouring of emotions intertwining in a tumultuous dance. Amidst the swirling torrent, one sentiment emerged with crystalline clarity: fear. It seized her, causing her hands to tremble uncontrollably, and she instinctively wrapped her arms tightly around herself, as if seeking protection from the weight that threatened to crush her. It felt as though madness itself threatened to consume her, burying her under its suffocating grip.
From a distant corner of the room, her gaze fell upon the glimmering lights emanating from the coastal town below. Man-made luminance illuminated the darkness, a stark contrast to her desolate surroundings. Her eyes traced the graceful sway of three imposing ships battling the tempestuous waves at the harbor. In her mind's ear, she could almost hear the echo of laughter and the strains of music that surely accompanied the revelry below. Lena cast a lingering glance back at her barren room, where an oppressive darkness loomed, signaling a foreboding and uncertain future that had abruptly arrived. Turning her attention back to the window, she pressed the right side of her face against the cold glass, gazing downward at the town, then fixing her gaze upon the ships. Ships—a symbol of liberation and boundless possibilities.
Driven by a sudden surge of exhilaration, Lena hurriedly made her way to her closet, fingers skimming past opulent silks in various hues of purple, blue, green, and red, each fabric a proclamation of status. Yet, status was the last thing she desired. She yearned for inconspicuous attire, garments that would allow her to blend seamlessly with the common folk inhabiting the bustling town below. An idea ignited within her, igniting a spark of giddy delight. The maids—surely they possessed garments more suited to her purpose. Silently, she turned the knob of one of the two wide doors, slipping out into the dimly lit hallway. The manor assumed a more hollow and haunting ambiance during the nocturnal hours, with the relentless rain pounding upon the roof and the vast windows, evoking an eerie yet oddly serene sensation. Moving with careful steps, she descended the stairs, her footsteps tiptoeing across the marble, her anxious mind praying for their echoes to dissipate into the shadows. The grandeur of the main hall served as a stark reminder of how, mere hours ago, she had frolicked through its expanse like an untethered child, laughter reverberating through the air. Yet, it was within these very walls that her world had been shattered, the world she had painstakingly constructed.
She proceeded toward the kitchen, but her steps carried her further, past four doors lining either side of the hallway. On the right stood the quarters for the men of the manor, while on the left resided the women. However, those four doors were not her intended destination. Her purpose lay within the last door on the left, nestled farther down the corridor beside a lavishly adorned table. Passing through the threshold, she found herself in the laundry room, where baskets brimming with clothing flanked sinks and drying racks. Garments of various kinds were strewn haphazardly across the space, and she wasted no time in sifting through the discarded fabric. Each item she examined was promptly cast aside, her hopes set on finding a modest day dress, akin to the attire the maids would wear during their visits to town. Alas, none surfaced. It seemed that only men's clothing and standard uniforms remained, prompting a click of her tongue in frustration, as she begrudgingly accepted that the former constituted her sole option.
Exasperation welled within her, and with a heave, she discarded her nightgown, hastily snatching up a loose green cotton shirt and a pair of beige trousers that sagged at her waist. Her eyes swept across the laundry room, and a cry of triumph escaped her lips as she spotted a neglected belt hanging from one of the racks. Seizing it, she deftly buckled it around her waist, cinching the trousers securely. Finally, she seized a worn-out brown oversized coat, its weight settling upon her shoulders, while she struggled to keep the rolled-up sleeves from engulfing her hands. Completing her impromptu ensemble, she hastily slipped on a pair of socks and pulled on knee-high leather boots.
Emerging from the laundry room, Lena passed through the kitchen, her gaze falling upon a woven bag containing bread. Without hesitation, she claimed it as her own. Swiftly, she shrugged off her coat, slung the bag across her chest, and slipped back into the comforting embrace of the coat's folds. Now, standing before the servants' door, her hand rested upon the handle, poised to open it. A momentary hesitation gripped her, but a sudden lightning strike outside propelled her forward, causing her to fling open the door in a startle. The tempestuous storm greeted her eagerly, and a smile broke through the clouds of fatigue upon her countenance. The cold caress of wind and rain kissed her face as they tugged at her, urging her farther away. Squinting against the elements, she turned and closed the door behind her, embarking upon the path that led downhill toward the town, where the waiting ships beckoned.
From a distance, she discerned the town's melody, harmonizing with the symphony of the storm—laughter, shouts, and exuberant cries blending into a vibrant cacophony. Yet, as she stood at the epicenter of it all, the sounds seemed to belong to tales she had yet to experience. Excitement and nervous anticipation mingled within her, causing her stomach to bubble with a delightful restlessness. The fear that had gripped her back in her room now resided merely as a faint ache in her heart. Passersby smiled and engaged in lively conversations, while intoxicated men and women sang and bantered, carried away by the melodies emanating from taverns. The aroma of freshly baked delicacies wafted from every open door of taverns, inns, and homes. Children brandishing wooden swords played joyously, their voices filled with pirate slang as they leaped into puddles. Pirates, she thought, a giggle escaping her lips. Lena couldn't help but marvel at the lively spectacle unfolding before her eyes, for there seemed to be no corner of the town of Lillon unoccupied. Some of the men who passed by wore adornments of jewelry and swords hanging from their hips, their eyes shimmering with the same exuberant joy she had felt earlier.
Shaking her head, she released a breathy laugh, a soft sound escaping her lips. "The ships, Lena, the ships first," she whispered to herself, a gentle reminder, as she sought refuge beneath the sheltering roof of one of the stores. It was certain that they would not embark on their journey tonight. Her task was clear: she needed to unravel the destination they sought and devise a plan to clandestinely join their voyage. Easy... well, perhaps not so easily accomplished... hahaha. Strands of damp hair threatened to obstruct her vision, prompting her to deftly slick them away. Squinting once again, she directed her gaze towards the harbor and the docks, where slumbering figures lay undisturbed. How can they sleep through this storm? Lena watched in awe, momentarily captivated by their seemingly impervious slumber. However, she swiftly dismissed the thought, turning her attention elsewhere.
A woman, equally drenched by the downpour, hurriedly approached her, vigorously patting herself down to ward off the relentless raindrops. Shivers ran through her body as the winds howled around them. The adrenaline coursing through Lena's veins had momentarily caused her to forget the chill that clung to her, yet now, the sight of the woman's trembling form made her own body shudder in response.
“Oh darling, you must be freezing, huh,” the woman pointed out, her concern evident in her voice, as she continued her futile attempts to dry herself.
"Yes," Lena replied, a small laugh escaping her lips, though her teeth chattered involuntarily.
“Well, you should head home before you catch a cold or somethin’.”
"Actually," Lena began, adjusting her position slightly to face the woman directly, endeavoring to hold her attention, "do you happen to know the destination of these ships, ma'am?"
As the lady halted her movements, her gaze sweeping up and down Lena's figure, a sudden knot formed in Lena's throat. She had never ventured into this part of town, and these people knew nothing of her identity. Up in the manor, she was merely the daughter of a wealthy man, hidden away, decaying in her own solitude. This woman didn't know her. Of course not, Lena reassured herself, clinging to the hope that she would remain unrecognized.
“Don’t tell me a young thing like you got caught up with those men,” the woman sighed, her voice tinged with a mix of sympathy and exasperation.
“Well—” Lena began, intending to clarify her intentions, but the woman interrupted her, shaking her head in disapproval.
“You know, I get us women wanting to make a name for ourselves. But it’s not necessary with those savages.” She shook her head. “Do you know what it’s like being on board with twenty or more men on a ship?”
"No, but—" Lena attempted to interject, her words falling on deaf ears.
“Cause let me tell you, I do. Or at least my cousin’s girlfriend’s friend Genevive knows. Ooh, she told me some things that no woman should bear witness to or experience. She said it better herself, ‘Women can do it all but don’t need to lose the class they were taught,’ and every time I work with those men at the tavern, I feel that in my chest darlin’.”
Lena stood before the woman, her eyes blinking in a dazed fashion, her lips slightly parted as she struggled to process the woman's words within her fatigued mind. Leaning down to meet the young girl's gaze, the woman's concern was palpable as she spoke, “Oh damn, don’t tell me you’re already feeling sick. They do say small things like you get easily withered.”
Startled by the woman's proximity, Lena instinctively leaned back, offering a sheepish smile in response. "I, uh, no, I assure you, I feel perfectly fine. I apologize for the confusion. Working alongside them can indeed be draining. However, circumstances have led to my transfer, and I need to ascertain which ship is bound for which destination."
Acknowledging Lena's explanation with a nod, the woman adjusted her dampened hair and leaned over the edge of the shop's wall, directing her gaze toward the bustling harbor. “Well, I can’t tell you which is which since I don’t really step out onto the docks. But I can tell you the places they’re planning to go.”
“That’s fine,” I think.
“Well, from what I heard, two are planning to sail west to the islands of Canoga, and one is sailing to Pearl Reef.”
Expressing her gratitude, Lena suppressed the urge to curtsy out of habit. "Thank you for your assistance."
“Of course. Now, I must get a couple of things and head back. It was nice meeting you! You should head home and take a bath before you get yourself sick, though,” she finished before heading into the shop.
Lena offered a nod of acknowledgment before turning her gaze toward the three ships looming before her. Canoga was not a viable option, considering Li'Pold's presence there. This meant she had a single opportunity to choose wisely among the trio bound for Pearl Reef. Among the three vessels, the one positioned in the middle exuded a grandeur surpassing that of its counterparts. Adorning its bowsprit was a meticulously crafted figurehead, depicting a bird with its wings tucked gracefully. In her younger years, a maid would regale Lena with tales of sailing and ships, given her father's occupation as a merchant. While the intricate details and components of a ship hadn't been retained as vividly as the locations in those stories, the captivating designs of mermaids, maidens, and pirates that adorned the vessels had always held a profound allure. Each ship possessed its unique design, laden with symbolism.
I’d best get moving.
As Lena maneuvered through the undulating masses of swaying crowds and bustling vendors, her mind was awash with nervous contemplation of the words she would utter once she confronted the men who occupied the docks. Unbeknownst to her until now, the briny aroma of the sea permeated the air, permeating her nostrils and searing her lungs with an unfamiliar and putrid blend of salt and fish. As her feet made contact with the weathered wooden planks of the docks, a resounding creak jolted her senses, prompting her to cast a wary gaze downward, ensuring the integrity of the flooring beneath her.
Resting against one of the pylons, a man of similar age to Lena lounged upon a diminutive wooden stool. A brown cocked hat nestled upon his face, slightly askew to grant his left eye an unimpeded view. With his right arm, he diligently secured the hat, preventing the capricious wind from snatching it away. Nonetheless, his long black vest and billowing blouse danced with the breeze, threatening to become disheveled and dislodged from his brown trousers. Drenched by the rain as Lena was, he remained unperturbed in his repose, only mustering a glance as she drew nearer. Peering at her through the small opening afforded by his hat, he offered no inclination to alter his position.
"Yes?" His voice, groggy and brimming with palpable disinterest, reverberated towards her.
Lena raised her hand above her eyes in an attempt to shield them from the incessant rainfall, her voice carrying a trace of urgency, “Sorry, I was hoping to talk to the Captain who will be sailing to Pearl Reef.”
Upon hearing her request, he sat up, setting aside his hat as he scrutinized her with a discerning gaze. Raising an eyebrow, a smug smirk materialized upon his countenance, as he insinuated, “Are you one of his whores?”
His words elicited a mixture of disbelief and revulsion within Lena, causing her voice to escalate slightly, "His what?"
Unfazed by her reaction, he retorted, his tone tinged with sardonic amusement, “Don’t be ashamed; it happens. I’ve noticed that the ones who’ve accepted it tend to have a better time.”
“I am not a whore and certainly not his. I’m just hoping to speak to him.”
Clicking his tongue disapprovingly, he shook his head, his demeanor condescending, “Being desperate isn’t a good look on you. It won’t win him over, either.”
Oh, for the love of god— “Do you know where he is or not?”
A wry smile tugged at his lips as he leaned back, divulging the sought-after information, “At the Greyson’s tavern. Perhaps singing another night away.”
She expressed a bitter gratitude to the man who had provided her with the desired information before retracing her steps through the town, her gaze fixed upon the carved wooden signs suspended above or affixed to the walls of shops and establishments. The weariness that had been steadily encroaching upon her finally overwhelmed her resistance, a relentless reminder of the discomfort that plagued her within the confines of these sodden, ill-fitting garments. They clung to her form with an ungainly persistence, exacerbating the chafed skin between her thighs. The ceaseless downpour only added to her plight, as her dampened hair adhered to her neck and cheeks, teasing her already hypersensitive complexion. "Just convince him to grant you a place within his crew," she muttered to herself, an incantation she repeated with increasing fervor. At long last, the sight of handcrafted lettering announcing 'Greyson's Tavern' above a sturdy oak door elicited a warmth that transformed her withered countenance into a grateful smile.
Externally, the establishment exuded an atmosphere of intimacy, imbued with rustic charm. Pillars hewn from both soft and hardwood dominated the outer facade, while the interior remained hidden behind glazed windows. However, the sounds and warmth emanating from within could be perceived even from the outside. The lively melodies and animated conversations spilled forth as the door swung open, permitting ingress and egress. The occupants within appeared dazed, inebriated, or otherwise under the influence. Lena followed closely behind one of the patrons, and as she crossed the threshold, she basked in the embrace of warm yellow light that enveloped the interior, the palpable heat radiating from the throng of bodies swaying and singing in unison. Her gaze momentarily lowered to the floor, besmirched by countless muddy footprints, spilled libations, and discarded remnants of food. Nonetheless, as she stood within the entryway, drenched and shivering, she reveled in the unfamiliar sensation of warmth, audibly releasing a sigh of relief as she finally escaped the clutches of the cold and damp.
Waitresses traversed the premises, dutifully attending to an abundance of drink and food orders. One of them bestowed upon Lena a fleeting smile as she passed by, though her attention was swiftly diverted to cater to another person. It’s not like I brought money with me, Lena thought wryly. The amalgamation of unfamiliar scents wafting through the tavern provoked a slight headache, but one she resolved to endure until she could board the ship. Above her, stout wooden beams provided support for the upper floor, while modest chandeliers adorned with rows of flickering candles illuminated the space. The walls were adorned with an assortment of mementos, each bearing the signatures of patrons who had likely donated them. Numerous long tables were occupied by what appeared to be the entire populace of Lillon, while smaller tables also accommodated revelers who reveled in their mirth, perhaps even to excess, if such a thing were possible. Even the bar stools were predominantly claimed, yet the close proximity seemed to elicit no discontent among the occupants. Amidst it all, perched atop one of the elongated tables, a man bellowed forth a sea shanty that served as a siren's call to the assembled crowd.
Lena quickly discerned that he held command over the sea shanty that had enraptured the hearts of all present; amidst the clamor of boisterous voices, his own resounded with unparalleled brilliance. Entranced, she watched him with unabashed fascination, unable to deny the handsomeness that graced his visage. His fiery red tresses tumbled untamed, cascading in playful disarray with errant strands framing his features. The remnants of rainwater adorned his bronzed skin, shimmering like liquid gems. It appeared that not a soul in this haven of revelry minded the rain's persistent assault, embracing the tempestuous conditions with fervor. A faint blush brushed his cheeks as he quaffed from a bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand. His pearly white teeth gleamed with each infectious smile that accompanied the fervent rendition of the next verse, eliciting spirited dances from his fellow merrymakers. Smudged black makeup accentuated his eyes, while golden jewelry shimmered seductively in the ambient light. As the song crescendoed toward its final chorus, he rose from his seat and meandered through the throng, leaning in to share intimate words and hearty laughter with the assembled company. A mischievous twinkle danced in his eyes as he serenaded a woman from behind, their playful exchange culminating in a twirl and a tantalizing tease. And as the melody reached its climactic end, he ascended a chair, lifting his bottle high while exclaiming a triumphant 'hoorah!' in unison with the raucous crowd.
The tavern erupted in a symphony of applause and cheers, reverberating through the air as glasses were raised in celebratory toasts to the renowned 'Captain Canerie,' who responded with a playful bow. Lena recognized that her moment had arrived, the opportune time to seize her chance. With each apologetic murmur, she navigated through the bustling crowd, diligently shadowing the vibrant-haired captain's every move. Amidst the sea of revelers, she felt diminutive, her gaze barely reaching the shoulders of those around her, compelling her to rise onto tiptoes intermittently to maintain sight of her target. Stay still, you idiot! she chided herself, though he seemed to flit effortlessly from table to table, engaging in flirtations with women and sharing hearty laughter with men who eagerly inquired about his seafaring exploits.
Finally, Lena arrived at the table where she had first spotted him. Nervousness and apprehension coiled tightly within her gut and constricted her throat, yet she steeled herself for this encounter. "Captain Canerie?" she called out, her voice rising above the clamor. He continued regaling his companions with laughter and tales, while a woman seated beside him leaned against his shoulder, fluttering her lashes coquettishly.
"Captain Canerie," Lena spoke again, raising her volume. At once, the collective gaze of the table's occupants shifted toward her, some with mouths full of food, others peering curiously from behind their drinks. The tavern's vivacity persisted, yet she felt an eerie hush settle over the world. Suppressing a nervous giggle, she met his amused gaze as the woman fed him morsels of bread.
“Apologies for interrupting your festivities, but I wanted to know if you are the individual destined for the voyage to Pearl Reef," Lena interjected, her words breaking through the jubilant atmosphere. All eyes remained fixed upon her, and she couldn't help but fathom the peculiarity of her appearance in their discerning gazes. Bedraggled like a stray, she donned garments that dwarfed her slender frame, while her fatigued countenance, tinged with unshed tears and the weariness of mourning, likely struck them as an oddity. If Mr. Freed saw me…oh god.
"And if I were?" he responded in a mouthful.
"I had hoped to join your company," she ventured, her tone forthright yet carrying with it hope.
A collective freeze gripped the table, the captain's hand instinctively halting the woman from feeding him. A hint of amusement danced at the corner of his lips, quickly spreading contagiously among his comrades.
“Thank you for the laugh,” he retorted, succumbing to laughter alongside others.
"It is no jest," she insisted, her tone shifting to solemnity.
His head recoiled in disbelief, a brow arching quizzically as he took a bite of bread offered by the woman. Swallowing the morsel, he spoke, "And why should I entertain the notion? Do you possess any riches or significant valuables to sway me?"
“No—”
“Then I don’t see any chance of you stepping foot on my ship.”
He took a sip from his drink, resuming his conversation with those around him, their collective indifference casting her further into a realm of trepidation and ire. Anger coursed through her veins, intertwining with the nervousness and fear she had already experienced.
"I was going to offer myself as payment," she declared, her voice carrying enough weight to quell their chatter, eliciting a chorus of intrigued murmurs.
He faced her directly, giving her a good look up and down before scoffing, “No offense, love, but you’re just not my type.”
His companions erupted in laughter, provoking a wave of disgust that knitted her brows together. "I meant for work. I am prepared to undertake cleaning and any other menial tasks required during the journey."
He was on the cusp of responding when a young man of her age, his tousled brunette locks framing his face, tapped the captain's shoulder and motioned for a private conversation. Whispering into the redhead's ear, his message elicited a radiant smile upon the captain's face as he redirected his attention to Lena.
“I don’t see why, but we do need an extra hand around after our last one fell overboard.”
Lena's eyes widened in astonishment. Overwhelmed with gratitude, she clasped her hands together, ready to express her heartfelt appreciation, but her words caught in her throat as the captain raised his hand. “But, you must first beat me in a drinking contest. Only fair, since you’ll be around a bunch of drunks.”
Her mind went still as she thought about the offer, I’ve never drank a drop of liquor. I just watched the workers back home have a swig of it late at night. It can’t be that awful, surely. The same man who had whispered to Captain Canarie pushes a large cup of beer across the table in front of her.
Gazing at the effervescent bubbles dancing atop the freshly poured pint, Lena found herself momentarily transfixed. She then turned her attention to the man who had presented her with the drink, a smile gracing her lips. "What is your name?" she inquired.
“Chenle, why?” he replied, his eyes fixated on her with an air of fascination.
Lena took hold of the cup, raising it to her nose to inhale the peculiar aroma, allowing its distinct scent to tantalize her senses. "Because it’s only right that I get to know my crewmate's name," she explained, before taking hearty gulps that swiftly emptied the vessel.
A chorus of cheers erupted in her honor, but the exultation intensified when she gingerly placed the empty cup back on the table and found herself seized by a fit of coughs and retches, her revulsion palpable. That is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever tasted, she confessed, her disgust evident.
“Seems like your first time, little dove,” he then emptied his cup and sets it down proudly.
Chenle refills her cup and hands it to her, “How badly do you want to be part of the crew?”
Rolling her eyes in a bitter display, Lena accepted the cup from him, downing its contents in one fell swoop. Yet, the experience failed to offer any semblance of refreshment; instead, it burdened her with a leaden sensation and heightened self-revulsion, surpassing even the discomfort she had endured in the midst of the rain-soaked storm.
“So, how will this go?” she asked.
“Easy, keep drinking until one gives up or passes out,” he finishes another cup and gets refilled.
“Fine,” Lena says bitterly and finishes hers.
The cycle persisted until Captain Canarie dispatched the young woman seated beside him to retrieve another pint. One of the crewmates even graciously vacated his spot, affording her a place to sit. The crew member who provided the seat refilled her sixth cup, introducing himself as Mark, the Quartermaster. Much like the captain, he bore smudged black makeup beneath his eyes and donned ornate silver rings adorned with intricate depictions of animals and human portraits. The life of a merchant must yield handsome rewards, Lena surmised, albeit hazily, amidst her inebriated state.
"Come now, don't lose your pace," Captain Canarie prodded, gesturing towards her newly replenished cup of beer.
Narrowing her gaze at him, she quaffed the contents of the cup and slammed it resolutely onto the table. "Your turn," she challenged.
And with a swift motion, he raised the cup to his lips, effortlessly consuming its contents in a single gulp. Lena couldn't help but be bothered by how effortlessly he drank, seemingly unaffected, while she struggled to maintain her composure. While he appeared invigorated, she found herself navigating the world as if through the tranquil undulations of calm waves, each movement weighed down by the heaviness in her limbs. Her words began to slur, a source of annoyance and frustration.
Mark poured yet another pint, extending it towards her. However, as her lips brushed against the rim of the cup, a halt befell her as Captain Canarie's voice resonated through the air. "Alright, I'm done for the night, boys," he declared.
Lena's ears perked up at his proclamation, and in a fit of intoxicated excitement, she slammed her cup onto the table, causing the liquid to spill and drench her hand. Rising from her seat, she clumsily pumped her fist in the air with uncharacteristic glee. Turning towards the captain, who was already sporting a knowing smile, she exclaimed, "I've won! I've won, and now you have take me to Pearl Reef!"
Rising to his feet, Captain Canarie took hold of the woman's hand beside him, delicately kissing the back of her palm. "Actually, no," he responded.
Lena froze momentarily, a slight stumble betraying her inebriated state, her hand instinctively gripping the back of the extended bench to steady herself. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she retorted.
“I mean, you won’t be sailing with us. Go home and get yourself cleaned up.” he asserted, his arms now enveloping the woman, his chin resting against her shoulder.
“But you said if I won, I could sail with you,” she scornfully protested.
He gave her scant attention, burying his face deeper into the woman's neck. “I did, and now I say ‘nay,’ and as Captain, my words go. Crew?” he called out, his gaze shifting to the rest of the assembled individuals, who responded with chuckles, continuing to feast and drink. Some even raised their cups in amusement.
Her heart twisted and ached with a potent mix of anger and burgeoning tantrum. While she had never been one to behave childishly, weariness and sorrow pushed her beyond her limits. Yet, she bit her tongue, allowing tears to escape, their silent descent an embodiment of her seething emotions.
"You are a coward and unworthy of leading this crew," she spat venomously, her voice rising to a height that caused the tavern to fall into an uneasy silence.
The captain, along with his crew, took notice, and he withdrew from the woman's embrace, striding purposefully toward the distraught girl, his imposing figure casting a towering shadow. Their gazes locked in a glowering exchange, the tension in the air growing palpable. With gritted teeth, she uttered her final words, seething with disdain, "You are nothing but a pathetic liar."
"Take... her," the captain's command was resolute and concise, and in the blink of an eye, two of his crewmates seized Lena by her arms, their grip firm and unyielding.
She fought in their grip, “You can’t do this! What you’re doing is illegal. I’ll make sure your licenses as merchants are revoked!”
Laughter filled the air, intermingling with the boisterous revelry that engulfed the tavern. Captain Canarie, immersed in the mirthful atmosphere, joined in the cacophony, his voice resonating above the rest. "Who ever claimed we were mere merchants? We are Pirates!" he proclaimed, his words reverberating through the room, igniting a thunderous response from the crowd.
𔘓 ᵗⁱᵖʲᵃʳ
divider: @/saradika
#kpop fanfic#kpop#kpop ff#nct dream fanfic#nct fanfic#ao3#haechan fanfic#haechan au#mark lee#mark fanfic#jaemin au#na jaemin#lee jeno fanfic#lee jeno#jeno fanfic#renjun fanfic#chenle fanfic#jisung fic#illumins#myriadofourseas
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Hope all is well in your world!
FSF:
Omega James Potter defying expectations choosing both Remus Lupin and Severus Snape as Alpha mates
James Potter is, perhaps, the most spoilt pureblood in all of Avalon; since he is also an incredibly rare male omega, perhaps that is to be expected--so, really, it shouldn't surprise anyone that he would expect to be just as spoilt when it comes to his future mate ... well, mates, apparently, seeing as he's decided on two.
"Alpha Severus Snape and Alpha Remus Lupin," James declares when it's time to make his choice.
Either or both of them can refuse, but James sincerely hopes that they will allow him to be selfish and keep both of them; he loves them equally as well and will gladly bear litters of pups--enough to fill Potter Manor--as his Remus handles all the political nonsense that comes with running an estate and his Severus manages the Potter family's potions empire.
His mother smiles at his father and says, "I'll make the arrangements, pup; they're as good as yours."
"Thank you, Mum," James replies, already imagining the day--hopefully not far in the future--when he'll hand his parents their first grandpup.
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[ actually sitting down and write down what, exactly, is canon for each verse she has
which. mostly means saying which game is canon and which isnt lfandsmg ]
DEAD BY DAYLIGHT
VERSE-CANON GAMES: any game in the blog-canon timeline up to the Last Revelation, including of course everything told in Chronicles
she got caught by the Entity with Set after the ending of the Last Revelation
technically set between the ending of TLR and Chronicles, with Von Croy still looking for her and everyone else thinking she's just missing; time is the Realms, so while it's been just a few weeks on Earth she could've been stuck in there for longer, never aging
if she ever returned to Earth, escaping the Entity, everything would return to the proper timeline with her meeting Putai and forgetting everything about the Entity
POKEMON
VERSE-CANON GAMES: any game in the blog-canon timeline, of course set in a Pokèmon world, and featuring her Team
she's from Galar, the Fiamma Nera cult is from my fanregion Eteria, any encounter with T-Rexes involve Pokèmon battles between her Team and particularly aggressive Tyrantrums, her encounter with Set involves instead a powerful Legendary from some Egyptian-based Legendary and so on. Just Pokèmonize locations and events and you should be good generally speaking
rather than ending up in the Floating Island and in Avalon, Lara ended up in the Ultra Space via Wormholes created by the Fiamma Nera and Amanda; she's a Faller, and I consider that private knowledge
she actively helped with the SWSH post-game events and still tries to track down both the SwordShield brothers and Rose, and had run-ins with Calyrex
in the same way she's not seen in a good light in Paris, she'd much rather avoid Kalos after she had to deal with one death cult involving immortal beings; the least she knows about Flare, the better it is for everyone
TEAM FORTRESS 2
VERSE-CANON GAMES: any game in the blog-canon timeline
she went through all her adventures but everything is set back a few years to fit in the TF2 timeline, including her birthdate
this means that in this verse she was born in early-to-mid '30s, and reaches New Mexico in the late '60sm with everything in the timeline taking place in those years
not really on either side, but she seems to have better interactions with the REDs so far. once again, she only plays for sport
VIDEOGAMES
VERSE-CANON GAMES: only the games classic Lara went through, so from Tomb Raider to Angel of Darkness
any classic games retelling or remastered except Anniversary are canon, since she's some sort of "videogame actress" à la Wreck it Ralph in this verse
the 10th Anniversary edition is canon
any app that uses classic Lara like Reloaded or Go are canon
her presence in TV spots, Fortnite and Call of Duty is canon
she went through the adventures but she's aware she's a videogame character, and normally is chill in her own manor when she waits for people to restart the games
#[ ☥ ] ] ᴘᴏsɪᴛɪᴠᴇʟʏ ᴀᴍᴀᴢᴏɴɪᴀɴ | • | about&headcanons [ [ ☥ ]#[ ☥ ] ] ᴍᴀɴɴ's ʀᴀɪᴅᴇʀ | • | tf2 [ [ ☥ ]#[ ☥ ] ] ғᴀʟʟᴇɴ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ᴍɪsᴛ | • | dead by daylight [ [ ☥ ]#[ ☥ ] ] sᴇᴀʀᴄʜɪɴɢ ғᴀʀ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡɪᴅᴇ | • | pokemon [ [ ☥ ]#[ ☥ ] ] ɢᴀᴍɪɴɢ’s ғɪʀsᴛ ʟᴀᴅʏ | • | videogames [ [ ☥ ]#this is the AUs page too so. yea <3
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I will be brief. Despite the show itself being low-budget and unknown to the masses, I love its characters for all the obvious reasons. @writtenndust has explained everything so perfectly.
We are now living in the era of generative AI, so why not use it to visualize what we’ve always wanted to see but never had the chance? I personally like to think that after spending some pleasurable time in Avalon and defeating Mordren once and for all, they returned home. I imagine their life would be something we see on Downton Abbey, but far less conventional. In public, they would probably respect protocols, but in private, they’d be like, “What the heck?” So, this is Marguerite at their country estate in Avebury, chilling in the grand manor.
#MargueriteKrux #TheLostWorld #GenerativeAI
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Ancestor Famousness(tm) for my mains cuz I've been thinking about it and I don't think I have this written down anywhere
Krasic Rissah / The Advocate: Basically lost to time, though her rebellion is mentioned in The Swindler's journals
Lycori Pharom / The Haruspex: Basically lost to time
Kiyana Bathre / The Beloved: If the name wasn't already an indication, she's been relegated to nothing more than The Malefact's matesprit, who assisted in his research and then tragically took her own life
Silque Tselao / The Martinet: The name may be recognisable if you know your Alternian military history, as he was well-regarded by those he trained during their early Fleet days. He tends to get credited as the troll who helped mould soldiers into the decorated heroes they came to be (or so they say in their autobiographies)
Siilas Giacho / The Whiteout: More likely that one who knows their Alternian military history knows of Codename: Nuclear Winter, but it's not as well-known that this weapon of war belonging to the Fleet was actually a troll
Canade Avalon / The Luminous: The name is known in Vernrot Harbour, but the story behind how he tried to save the residents from becoming influenced by Those Who Slumber In The Deep has been twisted, and nowadays there's still a mistrust towards the Avalon bloodline for their involvement in this part of history
Pavlov Espino / The Swinder: The name would be familiar for those who know their military history, as he was a rebel hunter who was a part of one of the Empire's elite soldier groups (The Hunting Dogs). However, he deliberately filled his journals with inconsistencies and fabrications in order to obscure his movements, making it difficult to ascertain his exact story. The Espino name also has a reputation in the Fleet as having strong associations with assassinations, as the bloodline is typically raised to follow in Pavlov's footsteps
Bathym Elliss / The Countess Antumbra: Her whole story as a cannibalistic serial killer who may or may not have connections to the occult has made her a very popular subject for True Crime podcasts. Nightfall Manor does get its occasional visit from true crime fans wanting to check out the scene where Bathym tortured and then ate her victims, only to be disappointed when they find Glasya living there
Ondrue Reyleh / The Malefact (Her Inquisitive Malefaction): A well-renowned scientist in the Fleet during his time. His research into the development of mutations in grubs and wrigglers, as well as troll biology in general, was a large scientific breakthrough at the time, and his works are still cited to this day. However, his research is also controversial in nature, as the experiments he conducted on young trolls are considered to be highly inhumane
#headcanon#masterpost#krasic rissah#the advocate#lycori pharom#the haruspex#kiyana bathre#the beloved#silque tselao#the martinet#siilas giacho#the whiteout#canade avalon#the luminous#pavlov espino#the swindler#bathym elliss#countess antumbra#ondrue reyleh#the malefact#silque is velour's ancestor if that isnt obvious. since vel doesnt use his surname anymore
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⠀⠀ ❪⠀𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝘁𝗶𝗰 𝗳𝗶𝗹𝗲⠀❫
⠀⠀ alt. text: genetic file
name:⠀⠀Brian Braddock
alias:⠀⠀Captain Britain
titles:
Captain Avalon, Lionheart, Black Bishop
Young Lion of London
pronouns:⠀⠀He/Him
race:⠀⠀Half-Otherworlder, Half-Human
ethnicity:⠀⠀British
birthday:⠀⠀October 29
zodiac:⠀⠀Scorpio
bloodtype:⠀⠀AB
education:⠀⠀Ph.D in Physics
occupation:⠀⠀Superhero, Adventurer
base of operations:
Braddock Manor,
Maldon, Essex, England,
Braddock lighthouse
affiliations:
MI13, Avengers, Champions of Europe,
Champions of Otherworld's Camelot,
Hellfire Club, Secret Avengers, [etc.]
weapons:⠀Star sceptre
gender:⠀⠀Male
age:⠀⠀Late 20s — Mid 30s
height:⠀⠀6'6"
weight:⠀⠀Approx. 257lbs
pigmentation:⠀⠀Warm ivory
physique:⠀⠀Muscular, chiseled
eyes:⠀⠀Blue
hair:⠀⠀Blond
moral alignment:⠀⠀Lawful Good
traits:
Confident, Somewhat arrogant,
Quick-Tempered, Willful, Judging,
Responsible, Stubborn
orientation:⠀⠀Bisexual
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~House of Horrors~
Scene:
Build: C&C - Echo Manor
Dogs: {-Maru Kado-} - Skull Head Fox - Black
Outfit:
Dress: AsteroidBox. - Ava Dress - Purple
Accessories:
Belt: Insomnia Angel - Sweetener Hand Belt
Pelt: {Aii & Ego} - Monster Pelt Collection
Lantern: Random Matter - Vered Lanterns - Cool - (Midnight Order - Event - January 2023)
Head Jewelry: kosmii - Pythia's Eye - (Midnight Order - Event - January 2023)
Body:
Hair: Usagi Society - Blyss Hair - FATPACK - (Midnight Order - Event - January 2023)
Eye Makeup: OMEN - Incantation
Lipstick: OMEN - Holy Marks
Tattoos: +Nuuna+ - Silmad Tattoo EVOX - (Midnight Order - Event - January 2023)
Head: Lelutka - Avalon
Body: eBody
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They are the might and the light.
Betsy Braddock/Captain Britain - Protector of Mutants, Magic and the Multiverse. Operates as the knight/agent. Proactive response to threats against mutants in the UK, adventures to other dimensions if need arises, Krakoan liason to the UK, helps facilitate peace amongst Otherworld kingdoms, acts as guide to Otherworld for other heroes, frequent member of the X-Men. Wielder of the Starlight Sword.
Brian Braddock/Captain Avalon - Guardian of Magic, Knowledge and the Multiverse. Operates as the scholar. Oversees Braddock Academy, mentors and trains knights in Avalon, fields studies in lab at the manor, keeps record of history and artifacts. Second line of defense if any threats make it to the land while Betsy is away. Wielder of the Sword of Might.
#betsy braddock#captain britain#brian braddock#Otherworld#marvel#x-men#excalibur#Captain Avalon#psylocke
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Alalestria Wintersky, Last Heir to House Wintersky of Silvermoon
(Artist's Rendition of Alalestria by xHyperwolfx )
Important Stories:
Coming Troubles, New Adventurers: After helping to drive back a scourge attack in the Ghostlands, Alalestria receives word that her long lost brother may still be alive.
Sibling Rivalry: Alalestria learns just how much her brother, Sam'ael, has changed since he fled Quel'thalas during the second war and makes plans to go find her estranged sibling to reclaim something that was stolen from her years ago.
The Heir to House Wintersky: Alalestria tracks down Sam'ael, now Samantha Montebank, in the Azure Span and, thanks to her power as a magister, is able to see that her now-sister is not alone...
Race: Blood Elf
Class: Magister, Frost School
Eye Color: Glowing blue
Birthplace: Silvermoon City, Manor Wintersky
Residence: Same
Abilities:
Heir to House Wintersky: The Magisters of House Wintersky are a line of archmagi dating back to the founding of Quel'thalas specializing in Frost School magic. The eternal springtime of Quel'thalas is a symbol of the elves' desire to avoid ever having to experience the harsh winters they encountered after fleeing Kalimdor following their banishment for continuing the practice of Arcane magic and their founder realized that such a hated element could be put to use against their foes. The original Magister Wintersky used his powers in the Troll Wars to drive back the Amani, freezing their warriors in place so that the Farstriders could bring them down with their arrows, if his own magics didn't simply kill them outright. For his actions King Dath'Remar recognized House Wintersky as defenders of Quel'thalas, making them a noble house, and Alalestria carries on this tradition. She is an extremely skilled and deadly magic user.
Silvermoon Nobility: Beyond pure martial skill she is a Silvermoon Noble... that is to say, absurdly rich. She has access to extreme resources and is able to hire out to mercenaries or other talents if needed with ease, but prefers to keep most anything involving her estranged sibling in Avalon 'in house' as it were and entrust it to either herself or her right hand man, Sinranir.
Sinranir Downstrider: Sinranir is, to be blunt, an assassin. He was originally sent to kill Alalestria's father, Danaforth Wintersky, due to some political intrigue in Quel'thalas but he was captured and given a choice; service to House Wintersky for the remainder of his days, or execution. He chose the former and was bound by magical geas to always obey and never harm the current head of the house and their chosen heir. With Danaforth's death his service has fallen to Alalestria. Sinranir is extremely deadly as a foe. He is adept at stealth, skilled with daggers, and knows several very nasty recipes for poisons. He is mildly irritated at how he fell into House Wintersky's service but is a practical elf, one master is like another to him really.
History
Alalestria is the last surviving member of House Wintersky, a line of magisters who have served Quel'thalas since the elves first settled there and created their Sunwell. While Quel'thalas is locked into an eternal springtime due to the elves' memories of being lost, cold, and helpless in the winters of the Eastern Kingdoms, the founder of House Wintersky realized that such a terrible force of nature could be brought to bear against those who would attempt to harm their people and brought his relatives around to his thinking.
During the Troll Wars, when the Amani Trolls attacked the newly built Silvermoon City, the Wintersky family struck back with spells of frost and cold, slowing and freezing the trolls in place for the soldiers of the Quel'dorei to strike down with ease. This impressed King Dath'remar so much he named them nobility among elves, declaring House Wintersky defenders of their new homeland. A massive storm of fire from the human and elven mages may have ended that war, but magisters like House Wintersky helped to hold back the trolls while negotations with King Arathor of the Humans were carried out, ensuring that the High Elves lived to see that end.
For generations they served the Sunstrider family and Quel'thalas, protecting it from the incursions of the Amani trolls… but eventually a foe came that they were woefully unprepared for.
In the year 20 After First War, the Scourge came to Silvermoon City.
Alalestria was away at this time, having travelled to Dalaran to study under the Archmagi there due to an ancient pact between Quel'thalas' nobility and the Magistocratic City… but upon recieving news of the fate of her homeland she returned immediately to a scene right out of the worst of her nightmares.
Silvermoon was in ruins, the Sunwell befouled, and her father Danaforth Wintersky slain by the mad Prince Arthas. Her mother had fallen as well, torn apart by ghouls when the undead army breached the city walls. Her only sibling, Sam'ael Wintersky, was nowhere to be seen. This last one was extremely dire. She realized after arriving in Dalaran that her pendant, a sapphire set with a golden falcon motif, had been stolen by them.
The pendant, believed by her sibling to be a pretty jewel and naught besides, was actually proof of her heritage. It was key to a magically sealed vault in which the secrets and true power of House Wintersky were kept. Without it, she could not inherit her late father's role in truth.
Her parents were dead… but Sam'ael's body was never found. Alalestria sent out her most trusted agent to seek any trace of her missing sibling. She hated them, a powerless little runt who couldn't even use magic owing to a rare affliction among the Quel'dorei, but without them and the stolen pendant House Wintersky may well die off… leaving them yet another casualty of the Third War.
#warcraft#warcraft roleplay#warcraft fanfiction#blood elf#mage#sin'dorei#adventures in azeroth#warcraft oc
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BETSY BRADDOCK: CAPTAIN BRITAIN #1
Tini Howard (W) • Vasco Georgiev (A) • Cover by Erica D'Urso
Variant Cover by PEACH MOMOKO
Variant Cover by OTTO SCHMIDT
Variant Cover by ERICA D'URSO
THE CAPTAIN COMES HOME!
And she's got a whole new mission! With Otherworld settled, Braddock Manor restored, and her brother Captain Avalon at her side, you'd think things look pretty good for Betsy Braddock. Only it turns out, good ole Britain doesn't want her back. No one wants a mutant menace carrying the shield of Captain Britain, and Betsy's made more than a few enemies along her way. Quest-less and country-less, Betsy must define a role for herself. A fresh take on a beloved character, don't miss the latest Tini Howard extravaganza and fan-favorite artist Vasco Georgiev's Marvel debut!
40 PGS./Rated T+ …$4.99
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Betsy Braddock: Captain Britain #1 by Tini Howard and Vasco Georgiev. Cover and variant cover by Erica D’Urso. Out in February 2023.
“THE CAPTAIN COMES HOME! And she’s got a whole new mission! With Otherworld settled, Braddock Manor restored, and her brother Captain Avalon at her side, you’d think things look pretty good for Betsy Braddock. Only it turns out, good ole Britain doesn’t want her back. No one wants a mutant menace carrying the shield of Captain Britain, and Betsy’s made more than a few enemies along her way. Quest-less and country-less, Betsy must define a role for herself. A fresh take on a beloved character, don’t miss the latest Tini Howard extravaganza and fan-favorite artist Vasco Georgiev’s Marvel debut!”
#betsy braddock: captain britain#captain britain#betsy braddock#marvel#tini howard#vasco georgiev#erica d'urso#variant cover#comics
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2022 Creators Self-Love Extravaganza!
Rules:
It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your five (5) favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2022.
If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead!
Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so ignore the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love!
This post is inspired by @bubblesthemonsterartist. Thank you to @x-authorship-x for tagging me!
I'm sticking to just Harry Potter fic for my answers or else this would take me forever. They're in no particular order.
(For the record, this is hard. I actually like a lot of what I wrote this year.)
i carry your heart with me (i carry it in my heart)
Summary: Lady Haesel Potter and Lord Charles Prewett might be destined for each other, but their love is so much more than Fate.
2. whose least amazing smile is (the common divisor of unequal souls)
Summary: Ever since Lily received her acceptance letter to Hogwarts, there’s been a vicious, sharp ache inside of Petunia. It hasn’t eased at all in the intervening years. Why did Lily get the opportunity to become a New Blood, while Petunia is still nothing more than a Squib?
3. and history immeasurably is (wealthier by a single day)
Summary: Lady Narcissa Black will not lower her standards, even if every other witch in Avalon chooses to do so.
4. the voice of your eyes (is deeper than all roses)
Summary: Heiress Daphne Greengrass storms into Potter Manor and proceeds to accuse Master Harry Potter of dishonorable behavior.
5. whatever life you wear (it will become you)
Summary: Miss Hermione Granger has a secret. She's actually Lady Hermione Prewett due to her clandestine bonding after Voldemort died and the war finally ended.
I'm tagging (don't feel obligated to do this, please): @elenscaie @snake-queen7 @sincerely-wyvern and anyone else who wants to do this! Feel free to @ me if you do. ❤️
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